


god's help

by caesarions



Series: a human being can survive almost anything [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Punic Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-19 00:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14225166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesarions/pseuds/caesarions
Summary: Even the strongest of glass still shatters if dropped. Something happens at Zama, but Anysus sweeps his jagged pieces aside and moves on with love in his heart.It is what Mago would have wanted.Direct sequel to 'grace of god'.





	god's help

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: the meaning of the name 'hasdrubal' in punic. i told you i was following a pattern. this is the last installment and all three brothers have been covered! 
> 
> NAMES:
> 
> carthage - anysus barca (lost to history, lightning)

**202 BC, Carthage, Tunisia**

* * *

 “ _Despotes_ , the family is in the atrium. Shall I send them in?”

His human slave stood imperiously with her arms crossed, he could see. The windows stretched behind her, illuminating her short frame and wiry curls. She couldn’t help it—she was Greek.

Clouds smothered Ba’al Hammon’s sky in a choke-hold, so only lifeless light filtered in, unwarranted. Anysus had to squint even into these pitiful scraps, for he had spent all night and day reading in the library with the torches snuffed out. As if that destructive behavior would somehow grant his wish to be removed from the world.

Anysus Barca now reclined on a couch in the middle of his dining room. Well, _Barca_ for only a little while longer, he thought with a rueful twinge in his eye. The first and second war both had been this dynasty’s folly—each had their own. Another Hannibal, this one of the Magonid flavor, caused his dynasty’s folly by leading his people into a plague-ridden city in Sicily. But the plague he failed to notice took his own life, and Anysus was free once more. The world often righted itself. Though pessimistic, Anysus still believed in that much.

Because now that Carthage has thoroughly fucked herself, there could be no third war.

Athenais clearing her throat brought the representative back to the present. The fog of remembrance lifted from his eyes, and they met her own wide, owlish ones. Since she was no longer a young girl, she truly lived up to her Athena-honoring name.

He could not be upset, for he was the one to make this appointment. It was a paradox—he did not look forward to this meeting, but it was the only thing that would set his heart right.

Truth be told, Anysus was alight with joy when the Sacred Band ceased to be used after their war with Agathokles. Foreign mercenaries had lives and families too, but Anysus did not have to return to that destruction. He had neither the finances nor the emotional fortitude in his heart to deal with his own people’s burials and widows.

He would die himself first.

Athenais politely cleared her throat once more.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Anysus huffed, shaking his head to and fro. The Greek slave deserves a vacation. All of them did. “Yes, please lead the humans into the dining hall.” His language always gave him away; he never kept his identity a secret at home. “What’s the state of dinner?”

“I checked the kitchens on my way here. An hour more at most, they said,” Athenais reported. “But perhaps you want to signal for it when you are done talking, _despotes_?” About what, she knew not.

“No,” Anysus mumbled. He needed something to soften the blow and fill his nervous hands with. “Tell them to bring it in whenever it’s done.”

Athenais jumped up onto the front of her feet, round eyes flashing. “Right away, _despotes_.” Since Anysus only knew the conversational, casual Greek of sailors and merchants, Athenais decided to learn Punic when someone bought her as a gift for Anysus. But, she stuck to the Greek titles and idioms she grew up with. Well, Anysus had no right to tell her not to.

The girl departed on soft sandals, and after the shuffling subsided, Anysus was left alone with the ghostly light. He took a shallow breath, gasping as he tried to get up. It was better he struggled alone than in front of any humans, be they foreign or national. After grasping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white, Anysus managed to pull himself into a sitting position—at the cost of a migraine sprouting like a cactus in the left side of his skull.

Like all civilized men, Carthaginians surrounded their dining tables with couches and ate while lying down. But for now, Anysus thought it better to be sitting up. Lying down reminded him too much of crying in bed.

Just in case dinner didn’t come quick enough to fill his hands, Anysus grabbed a small pomegranate from the centerpiece. He always requested a bowl of fruit be left out. The slaves could pick from it, annoying merchants could stuff their working mouths with it, and it reminded Anysus to eat if he was in one of his funks. A few times, slaves had noticed before even Anysus did and had thrown him one of the fruits. With a small carving knife beside the dish, he sliced where he knew the pomegranate split naturally and no seeds would be hurt.

“There’s an easier way to do that.”

His labored breaths caught in his throat, and Anysus was somewhere between a choke and a gasp. The knife jerked without breaking any seeds, thankfully. Blinking bewilderedly, he looked up to see a woman standing at the end of the table.

Athenais usually announced his guests, but she must not have deemed this one very important. Well, it was to Anysus. And at this time in his life, senses dulled, lost in thought, and wanting to be separated from the world anyway, Anysus never noticed anything anymore.

“ _Ba’al_ ,” the woman continued, folding her hands together, as if in prayer. Her voice was timid and mousy, wavering on vowels.

Anysus blinked again. “What?”

“There’s an easier way to do that, _ba’al_ ,” the woman repeated herself. Since the dining table was the length of the room, she was slightly yelling. “Cut just the top off. Then you can pull the pomegranate apart into a star and pick off the seeds.”

Anysus licked his parched lips. “Well, I only do it this way because I know the pomegranate.” He’d been cutting them for 600 years now. But he had to give some advice in return. “Yet I thank you. You can come closer, you know.”

For any human, dining at Anysus’ was to be a privilege, but she acted as if it was a punishment. She scampered down the dining hall towards Anysus, almost hopping silently like a rabbit. As she got closer, the representative could notice the human’s appearance. She was tall and skinny as a spear, as any good Phoenician. Most lower-class women didn’t have time for Phoenicians’ long, frizzy hair, so they tied it back under veils. A Semitic nose stuck out from this veil, sharp almond eyes shone, and her richly tanned skin made the light in the room seem more warm and appealing.

She stood across from Anysus.

“You must be Similce,” Anysus began politely. “Thank you for coming today.”

She nodded, but she didn’t sit down.

Anysus had no idea why his stomach was in knots. He raised an eyebrow and grimaced. “...You may sit. Dinner will be out soon.”

She shrunk into herself, nodding even more vigorously. After she came around, she reclined on the couch as if it was made of cacti. Her rich red clothing almost matched the pomegranate, although she was hiding most of it with her arms wrapped around herself.

“...I asked for Mago’s entire family,” Anysus started off quietly. “And Athenais said a family was in the atrium. Didn’t you bring your child?”

“I did,” Similce squeaked. “I didn’t think the boy needed to hear anything too much for him, _ba’al_.”

Anysus stopped nibbling on the seeds and leaned back in surprise. “What do you think I’m going to say?”

“With all due respect, _ba’al_ , I’m not sure.” Similce fingered her veil. “Since I was called by a higher-up about my late husband, I figured he must have caused trouble.”

Ah, yes. _Late_.

“No, no, absolutely not,” Anysus spoke with incredulity. He leaned forward out of congealing guilt, wondering if Similce had been anxious over her appointment—and if so, for how long. “The exact opposite, in fact.”

At that, it was Similce’s turn to sit up. “What do you mean by that, _ba’al_?”

“Well, I’m no official. I’ve never disciplined anyone,” Anysus explained, chuckling somewhat. But he always had trouble explaining what his job was. “I am… one of the gods of the hill. I always go with the army as a good luck charm of sorts.”

Similce’s hands flew to her mouth, and then she flew to her feet. “Oh! Yes! I should have been saying Ba’al Hammon—I’m so sorry—”

It was never a surprise when a human didn’t recognize Anysus by sight. Religion was a rich man’s art. At least everyone had heard stories, but the working class district where Mago had described living was the farthest away from Anysus’ home on Byrsa Hill. He didn’t have as much time to explore the city as he liked.

Funny.

If the war hadn’t happened, Anysus and Mago never would have met.

Mago never would have died, either.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Anysus soothed, holding his hand out. “I just wanted to assure you that everything I have to say about your husband will be positive. Can we compromise and say your children can come in with dinner?”

“Y—yes,” Similce nodded, sitting down slowly. She agreed more readily than normal; Anysus knew Zama had destroyed some food sources. “That nice Greek girl agreed to watch him. Okay. I’m sorry, _Ba’al_. What is it, then?”

With his pomegranate finished, Anysus pushed the rind aside. He felt confident for a moment—then, he immediately picked up some grapes instead.

“I hope the message came swiftly after Zama,” Anysus offered his condolences. “I know how hard it can be to not know.”

“No one else was celebrating either,” Similce shrugged. “When we lost, I mean. I was primed for anything at that point, so the timing didn’t matter. _Ba’al_.”

Anysus blinked for one moment, which was a mistake. After a blinding light, he had a violent flashback to his first meeting with Mago.

If the weather was the same too, Anysus would have lost his mind.

It was a few moments before he could answer again. “Please, just call me Anysus,” he smiled saccharinely. “Your husband did as well. It’s the human name I assumed.”

That was all he could give. Though he confessed his nationhood to Mago, after Mago’s death, Anysus was reluctant to try again. Besides, after the death of her provider, Similce didn’t deserve some ancient magic weighing down her day to day struggle.

“Okay, _Ba’al_ Anysus.”

Anysus’ mouth twisted.

They really were made for each other.

“Just Anysus is fine, thank you.” He chewed on another grape thoughtfully. But before he could say anything, Similce spoke up.

“Did you see him?” she asked, whispering fervently. “Was he… peaceful?”

Anysus stopped chewing.

He had spent the entire war keeping Mago out of the fighting entirely, or at least out of the front lines. However, Zama had been an exception. The only exception. It was a surprise attack at the end of the war, so Hannibal needed every single man.

And they still lost.

“Yes,” Anysus said, truthfully. They had been split apart almost immediately. When Mago didn’t return after the end of the battle, Anysus knew what had finally happened—what was bound to happen someday.

Anysus’ nation strength and sheer will to find his friend’s body led him running around the desert for hours. If the Romans had gotten to Mago first, Anysus would have never forgiven himself. But right before dusk fell, Anysus found Mago’s lifeless body, probably tossed from his horse near this cluster of sandstone rocks. Its shadow had hidden him from the sun, and Anysus had arrived before any insect larvae.

The gods had a sick sense of humor.

“We gave him a funeral of the highest honor,” Anysus added. Similce’s eyes were alight with pride. The Barcids’ eyes had looked at him strangely after Anysus carried Mago’s body back, but Anysus held their failing political reputation over their heads. They wisely let it happen.

“The desert blew his ashes around too much, but I have something better to remember him by.” Anysus reached under his couch and produced, one by one, a helmet, breastplate, and a knife. Only the knife was not standard issue with a gold hilt and quartz sleeve.

The nation placed the keepsakes between Similce and him. Her almond eyes opened like the Nile. “Those must all be Mago’s! I bought him that knife myself for his birthday. It was… it was the best I could afford.”

“Yes. I removed them all from his body out of sentiment.” Anysus nodded, his own eyes clouding over. “He never used the knife in battle. He wanted to keep it pristine.”

“It’s too nice to use. I don’t know how rich people do it,” Similce laughed while pawing at her tears. “...He talked of me often?”

“Very often.” Anysus pushed all the items towards her. “And about your children. I could probably repeat your lives’ story ten times over, but I don’t want to come off as odd.”

“That’s sweet. You’re not, _Ba’al_. I mean—Anysus.” Though she had successfully dried her face, Similce’s voice was still watery and thin. She picked up the ceremonial blade and thumbed it fondly. “Oh, when the day comes where I need to sell it… I hope the word ends first.”

Anysus blew some air out of his nose. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all. “No, that never needs to happen.”

“How can you be so sure?” Similce asked, holding the blade to her chest. “If gods can tell the future, then…”

Anysus laughed openly for the first time since returning to North Africa.

“Sadly, we cannot. But since the Carthaginian army was responsible for his demise, we would like to compensate you.” Anysus had to talk delicately. He didn’t wish to hurt the woman’s pride, but it was the simple matter of widows in the ancient world. It wasn’t the army, either; it was only Anysus’ idea. But he wasn’t about to act like he had a savior complex.

Similce had to set the knife on the table, then resting her hands on the table to support her weight. She looked to be going white in the face. “What?”

“We proposed an allowance could be sent to your family each month. I know how hard it is these days, especially with children.” Anysus spoke quickly and softy. “It would be the same amount as Mago’s pay was. So, he is still with us—still doing some good for this world.”

Similce repeated, “What?”

“And you shouldn’t be afraid to ask for more in case of emergencies. I can’t promise that times are to get any better.” Even if she didn’t, Anysus already planned on it.

Similce licked and her lips. After a long, long time, peace gathered on her face, and she leaned back into the cushions.

“I want to say no,” Similce admitted with a blank stare. “But I know my limits.”

Anysus exhaled a silent spirit of relief. “I won’t push the issue right now. Just know it’s all in Mago’s name.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then, Similce turned and faced him fully for the first time that night. Her gaze was so intense that Anysus flinched away, as if he wasn’t the divine one.

“But why?”

Ah. It was the question Anysus had dreaded the most. Why did he take a special interest in Mago? He could explain that Mago comforted him, but not about what. He could say that Mago wasn’t a Barcid, but he couldn’t explain why he disliked the Barcids so fervently now. What was there to say about a human so ordinary that he became extraordinary?

“He was a friend,” Anysus decided on, sweet and simple. “He was a good man. He had a good heart and honest soul. That is the rarest combination in the world.”

When he saw the explanation pleased her, Anysus felt warm. Fresh tears sprung to Similce’s eyes, but she kept her iron gaze level, transcending her first impression in that moment. “I think you should keep this one.”

She pushed the decorated knife across the tabletop and back over towards Anysus. Before he could hit her with his own _Why?_ , Similce held up her hand. “Mago would want you to have it. It should always belong to someone with character like his.”

Like she could not deny Anysus’ help, he could deny the token of gratitude. They reached a silent understanding with their eyes. Anysus grabbed the knife and laid it back down under his couch.

Secretly, he was thankful.

If they had not been interrupted, their silent staring could have stretched on forever. But Anysus heard the sound of metal plates and a tiny scream. The piercing quality set Anysus on edge, but when he looked, it was just the boy Similce had brought. A little rascal, he was weaving in between the slaves’ legs as they were trying to bring dinner in.

As the the icing on the cake, Athenais cane running in through the same door and tried to catch the kid. The kitchen slaves rolled their eyes at the display, and Anysus could only give them a shrug in return.

“Sorry!” the Greek apologized loudly, running after the boy. “I hope we’re not interrupting anything! He saw dinner coming and ran in after it.”

“Come here, little one!” Similce giggled like a young girl herself. She patted the couch next to her, and he stopped running. The couch was too high for him, so when he dangled from the edge precariously, she lifted him up. Instead of something snarky like _I could have done it_ , he mumbled his thanks. “This nice man, Anysus, is telling me stories about your father.”

Athenais lingered in the background, so Anysus stood up (with some amount of effort) to acknowledge her over the slaves setting out dinner for them. “You are fine. I was going to tell you to lead him in for dinner, anyway.” With that, Athenais smiled and bounded away.

Anysus had planned on sitting down, but their child’s appearance bowled the nation over. It was almost a glimpse into what Mago must have looked like as a child. He was a carbon copy; they all had curly hair and big noses, but the expression that trusted without discretion was uniquely Mago. He beamed at Anysus; Anysus smiled weakly back.

The gods really did have a sick sense of humor.

Though Anysus had been staring with his mouth ajar, the family didn’t notice, for they were doing the same thing while looking at the dinner. Plates of chicken stuffed with vegetables, fish in a citrus glaze, fresh bread, a side of raisins and nuts, and pitchers of honeyed wine now decorated the previously barren table. It was only the first course. “I wish I had more than one napkin!” Similce said breathily. “I can’t eat even a fourth of this.”

Well, that didn’t mean Anysus could either. This was all just for show, and the cooks were extra eager since it was the first time they’d gotten anything to do since Anysus returned from Zama. Again, during his depressive episodes, his daily diet consisted of two chickpeas and grape. “I have lots of napkins, Similce. You can take home whatever you want.” He’d hate to see it go to waste.

But since reminiscing on Mago had taken everything out of Anysus, he ate a bit more than usual. Similce wanted more wartime stories of course, so Anysus gave her a highlight reel. Really, any story that didn’t include Anysus crying again. He ended each story with a substantial piece of food so he could keep going.

Anysus and the human family talked into the early hours of the evening. Anysus looked up one moment, and it was a rich sunset. Anysus looked up another moment, and it was a rich purple outside, a slave having lighted the torches without Anysus noticing.

When the boy was done eating, he scampered to the back of dining hall. Athenais noticed and brought the toys she had used to entertain him in the atrium.

Anysus utilized this as his one last chance to talk business. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Is he enrolled in a school? If he ever needs a job, my business would be happy to train him. He doesn’t even have to stay with us if business isn’t his true calling.”

“I didn’t think school was for us,” Similce shrugged. As if she had remembered a dark secret, Similce’s mouth opened and closed. Her answer came very slowly. “I don’t suppose I could get him into politics.”

The painstaking steps Anysus had taken to build up a strong, providing image for Similce’s were useless now. They had been drops in an ocean. His image shattered. His complete loss of will went from head to toe; first, his lip quivered, then his shoulders began to shake, and his lower body froze in place. If a pitcher of wine had been within his reach, he would have drunk it all in one go.

When Anysus broke into a choking sob, everyone in the room looked up, down to the last slave in the corner. “Anysus? I’m so sorry!” Similce jumped up; in another act beyond her, she ran around the entire dining room table to hover over his couch like an anxious mother bird. Without thinking, she put a comforting hand on Anysus’ shoulder. “What did I say? Anysus?”

With tears streaming down his ancient face, the national representative looked up. “Mago would have been the best _suffete_ in history.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! that's the end of the mago trilogy. i hope you enjoyed mago showcasing the power of humanity ❤


End file.
